As a matter of any practical improvement, I couldn't decide whether the Op-Ed-Anonymous would have any lasting effect except to show what a sick, crippled, incompetent, traitorous disease the Trumpie White-House is.
I've been slapped in the face just for being a moderate American citizen every time that Disgusting Filth with the Orangutan hair appears on the news. He ruins my day -- every day -- for the last 660 days or so.
I can't count the cost to me in dollars of health-care, and I don't know if feeling disgusted has a dollar value. But the point is this.
Today, it was a lot more than just an enema of sunshine to watch the live broadcast from the Urbana Campus of Illinois State U. I recorded it. Now, when the Traitor-in-Chief appears to slap me in the face again, I've got something better to watch until it starts to get stale.
I just can't be as good as Obama says we must be. Here's an anecdote about taking my 93-year-old Moms to the medical clinic. My problem -- I probably need a hearing aid, because my voice is loud, even when I whisper:
ME: Moms? Isn't it good that we are at the doctor's this morning? We don't have to watch that disgusting traitor-in-chief on the morning news . . .
MOMS: You mean that man -- what's his name? -- with the stupid hair?
ME: Yes -- Trump.
MOMS: Oh, yeah. Trump.
[Last year, we were visited by a county social-worker, and they were asking Moms questions to assess her memory. "Who is the President?" She said "Obama?" She's had trouble fixing Trump in her mind. Who wouldn't?]
ME: You know, sometimes I worry that the trauma of watching that Slug on TV will set you back on your cognitive decline, Moms.
[Another man, about 60 and in a wheel-chair, interrupted.]
TRUMPIE #1: Oh, please! I've heard enough! Keep it to yourself!
TRUMPIE #2: Yeah! That's two of us! A majority!
ME: Not in California, Buddy! And I suggest you look around the room -- there's a silent majority here!
[Mexican-Americans, Asian-Americans, African-Americans. I was comfortable in my reasonable assumptions and probability likelihood functions. TRUMPIE #2 was called in for his appointment, and left. I bent over and tried to whisper to Moms.]
ME: Moms? You know, it's a good thing I'm responsible for taking care of you. The way I feel these days, I could get arrested for assault . . . without the restraint of responsible obligations . . .
TRUMPIE #1: [After a pause] I think it's nice you're taking care of your Moms. I have a son, and he feels like you do. But . . . Can't we agree to disagree?
ME: We can agree to disagree, when they build the Space Force, and you and your fellow lunatic space-aliens can finally return to your home galaxy, Buddy! We're lower than crocodile piss now, but we will be great again when that happens!
And I still think, with trick questions, I'm going to ruin a Trumpie's day whenever I find one for the next 20 years. Nuthin' you can do about it, Quislings! The only reason I don't punch space-aliens in the face: they're protected by the Rule of Law! Maybe I can provoke someone, even so. "Skin that smoke-wagon and go to work!" as Earp says in "Tombstone." The blood will be on their hands, then.